


Breathe

by ChloeWinchester



Category: Deadpool (2016)
Genre: Canon Themes, Drabble, M/M, Medical Torture, Panic Attacks, Torture, suffocation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6041242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeWinchester/pseuds/ChloeWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wade can't breathe, not in the tank, not anywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Same themes/language as the film.

_ Air. Air- It- It’s right there, it’s right fucking there, just fucking get it! Air- Breathe. Fucking breathe, you can breathe! You’re aren’t gonna die, you know that so just- Fuck, why won’t you breathe?!  _

It was so dark. Dark and, and empty and that strap on his throat, his arms, his legs, the air just, just not coming into his lungs but it was there, it had to be there. Francis said it was, it’d be there to just keep him right at the brink of choking that had to mean there was air. His skin hurt so bad, everything was on fire. He could only scream so loud for so long when he ached this much, when his lungs felt like balloons under a steel toed boot. Tears streaked his face, piss soaked between his legs and he was just...frozen. 

He bet Hell was better than this. Yeah. Had to be. Nice lake of fire, pitchfork up the asshole, that’d be great compared to this, right? 

Right? 

He tried to ask the dark, ask the voices he heard lingering out there, in there? In his head? Outside the glass? Wherever the fuck they were they were laughing at him. It didn’t matter if he tried to breathe or not this would never end. If he was left here for decades in this white hot agony clenching his heart and his ribs, he would not die. 

He convinced himself if the strap on his neck was looser he could do it. If he could pop the bubble of glass with a soft puff of air through his shaking lips he could do it. The simplest thing in the world. Breathe. Breathe.  _ Breathe.  _ **_BREATHE!_ **

Voices hissing, clawing, itching, poke poke poke, knock knock knock, little pig little pig let me come in~! Fuck, it was too much. This was too much- he’d break. He’d break into teeny little pieces of sweaty piss and tear soaked goop all over this glass. Yeah. Or he could just...give up. Then it’d be like Snow White in her casket when all the dwarves thinks she’s dead but she’s just sleeping. Serene and pretty and perfect. 

He’d look like a fucking monster. Like King Kong’s bleached and twisted dick in a display case. Yeah. He’d look like the Villagers won and Frankenstein’s monster couldn’t hurt anyone anymore. He wouldn’t look like that pretty princess. He might not even be fucking human looking. If anyone other than these people found him they might think he was just a bunch of mutated HELA cells that had a goddamn heyday on cancer. 

Something of a strangled sob left his throat while he continued shrieking at himself to just take a goddamn breath. One fucking good breath. One goddamn in and out that didn’t taste like blood. 

Ribs broke. A larynx cracked. Then they healed and did it again. And again. Veins burst, his heart popped, his eyes bulged. He went blind a couple times, or fell into something like sleep. He choked, he puked, he drooled. He clawed holes into his palms when the table underneath wouldn’t give. 

_ Breathe. Air. Air, just- It’s right fucking there, idiot, just take it! TAKE IT! Breathe for fuck’s sake, you pathetic shit. Fucking breathe. You can do it, get some air. Take a breath or I’ll never fucking leave you alone. Never never. Never will I ever leave your fucked up little brain.. Take. A breath. Do it, soldier! Breathe! _

He sobbed, or something like it. Gurgling gasps and pathetic hollow whimpering more like. It wasn’t pretty. Not like Snow White. Not like anything you could look at for more than five seconds. Not pretty anymore. 

And he still couldn’t fucking breathe-

~*~ 

Peter jumped awake at the horrible sound coming from the other side of the bed. Wade was sitting straight up, eyes wild and scared, clawing at his throat and trying to take a breath in. It was like he couldn’t, like his throat was swollen and he could only choke and gape. 

“Wade?! Wade, what’s wrong? What’s the matter?” He moved so he was kneeling in front of him on the mattress, trying to find the source of the problem. Wade’s chest shook and hitched, like he couldn’t breathe in, or get enough air, the tremors reflecting in the city light. He looked at him, trying to talk through this panic, this ungodly thing gripping hold of him. 

“Wade? Wade, honey, breathe! Breathe!” He tipped his throat back, trying to clear his airway but, but there was nothing blocking it. He was just...scared. “Wade, baby, you gotta breathe in. Just breathe in, see?” He took a deep breath of his own, watching him cry and tremble with hands clenched fiercely in the sheets. He was trying, but he was also far away. His eyes weren’t all with him, Wade had gone somewhere else. Somewhere he wouldn’t talk to Peter about for more than a few minutes. A horrible place where...where people hurt him so badly. 

“Okay, okay, hey, shh, come here. Come here.” 

He practically had to pick him up, kicking the balcony door open and falling onto the concrete with him in his arms. “Shh, shh, see? See?” The wind blew, crisp and clean, carrying the scent of the city on it. “There’s air, Wade. You can breathe. You can breathe, try. Try and take one deep breath, do it with me.” 

Wade was sprawled out, back against Peter’s chest, hands gripping the arm across his chest while he continued to fight this overwhelming fear. The sheets were twisted up around his sweaty body where he hadn’t let go, the cold air chilling hideous scarred skin, making goosebumps that only hurt all the more. 

“With me, Wade, cmon. Cmon. See?” Peter took a big breath in, and Wade tried one too. 

The bubble popped. The air was reached and another soft gust of wind reminded him it was there. Right there, just for him. He gasped, finally taking it in, sobbing brokenly as he caught the air in his lungs and kept it there. The burning started to fade and still he cried, clinging to Peter so tight. 

“Air, air, I can breathe, I can fucking breathe,” he whimpered, turning his face into Peter’s chest, the rest of him twisting with him. 

Peter’s gentle arms came around him and shielded him, kissing the top of his head, his voice thick and wet when he spoke. “Shh, there. There, you got it! You got it, I’m so proud of you. Shh...I gotcha. I gotcha. Shh…” 

Peter was crying. The tears seeped into his skin and it stung, but that was okay. That was good. That meant Peter cared, that meant he...he scared him. 

“I-I’m sorry, I- I just couldn’t, I couldn’t breathe, I tried. I tried, Peter, I tried and it just, it wouldn’t happen, I couldn’t. I had to-to blow it up, I didn’t- It made me like this, I just- Fuck!” Somehow with all his bulk he felt so small in Peter’s arms. He disappeared in them, shielded by them, hiding in his warmth. “It-it made me ugly, if I could breathe I wouldn’t be ugly-!” 

Peter ducked his head down and kissed him. Soft, tender, gentle. It was like his lips were being cradled like the rest of him, like Peter’s mouth was the safest place for them. He let out a soft coo, his own swollen eyes looking into Peter’s. He sniffed. 

“You aren’t ugly, Wade,” he croaked, pressing a warm hand to his chest. “You’re perfect.” 

The words were so sweet, so genuine he couldn’t possibly argue with him. He just, stared. Blinked up into Peter’s gentle eyes, the city humming and roaring underneath them. He started crying again when Peter touched his cheek, awed at how it didn’t hurt when Peter touched him sometimes. So good with his hands~ 

Inappropriate.

Another kiss that eased the ache in his lungs, tired eyes on Peter’s face. He believed him. Peter wasn’t lying, he knew that by his eyes. Peter wasn’t looking at him like other people tended to. Peter looked at him like he was Snow White. Like he was pretty.

On his own, Wade took a breath.


End file.
